And behind him, the book lay open. Left behind. Like something had crawled out.
Itsuki didn't sleep. He lay in bed with the lights on, staring at the ceiling. No dreams came. Only whispers, curling at the edge of his mind like smoke. Faint. Familiar. Wrong.
The morning sun lit his room like nothing had happened. His mom called from the kitchen. The same scent of toast and eggs floated in the air.
By the time he left the house, the sky was bright and cloudless — as if it were mocking how dark everything inside him felt.
At the school gates, Haruta was already waiting.
He waved dramatically. "Finally! The legendary ghost-boy poet graces us with his brooding presence."
Itsuki walked past him. "You're early."
"No, I just don't sleep in like a vampire on a Monday."
Itsuki didn't respond.
Haruta jogged beside him and raised an eyebrow. "You okay, man? You look like you spent the night arguing with your own shadow."
Itsuki muttered, "Something like that."
Before Haruta could ask more, Noa's voice cut through the noise.
"There you are."She walked up, hair tied into a loose side ponytail, her smile soft as ever.
"Morning, sleepy crow."
Itsuki blinked. "...That again?"
Noa smiled wider. "It suits you. You always look like you flew through a storm and didn't stop to rest."
Haruta looked between them. "Wait, wait. Sleepy crow? Why does he get cool nicknames and I get 'moron'?"
"Because he earns his," Noa said without missing a beat.
Itsuki smirked — just a little. "Don't worry, Haruta. She probably calls you 'noisy sparrow' behind your back."
Noa gasped playfully. "Hey, that's a good one."
Haruta clutched his chest. "I feel betrayed by this poetic alliance."
Noa leaned slightly toward Itsuki with a grin."Well, if I have to pick one person to team up with, I'll choose the one who actually uses his brain."
Haruta dramatically staggered back. "Oh, the pain! Right in my heart!"He pointed at them and declared, "If you two start writing joint haikus, I'm transferring schools."
Noa laughed and added softly,"We already kind of do."
Itsuki looked away with a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.His fingers adjusted the strap of his bag unnecessarily.
Noa glanced at him and smiled — not teasingly, but gently. "I brought you something."
She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, lumpy object wrapped in paper.
"It's that weird melon pan you like from the bakery near the station. I saw it this morning and thought of you."
Haruta leaned in dramatically. "Where's mine?"
Noa shrugged. "Maybe next time, if you ever look like you've had a deep thought in your life."
"I've had so many deep thoughts," Haruta argued. "Just last night, I thought about whether ghosts get bored haunting the same room for centuries."
Noa rolled her eyes.
Itsuki unwrapped the bun slowly. The paper was still warm. He took a bite — soft and sweet.
And for the first time in days, he smiled.
"Thanks," he murmured.
Noa's eyes sparkled. "I knew I'd get a real smile out of you today."
Classes passed in a blur. The teacher's voice droned on. The windows let in golden light, but it all felt far away.
Itsuki sat by the window, head resting on his hand. The outside world seemed normal. Birds. Trees. Sunlight.
But that stillness came again. That same unnatural pause in everything.
He looked down. His notebook was open.
In the corner of the page…A small circle. Five dots inside.
His handwriting. But he didn't remember drawing it.
He slowly tore out the page and crumpled it.
After school, Noa walked beside him again. Haruta had sprinted off for club stuff, yelling something about ghost-hunting being a valid sport.
They walked in easy silence. The kind that didn't need to be filled. The air was cooler. The sky streaked with pink.
"You're quieter today," Noa said eventually. "Quieter than usual, I mean."
"I'm just tired."
"You always say that."
"I'm always tired."
She bumped his arm lightly. "Well… I'm still walking with you. Even if you're a ghost."
He looked at her. Her expression was calm, kind, open.
It was so easy — being beside her.
"You keep me human," he said quietly.
She blinked, caught off guard. Then smiled. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
They kept walking. No more words. But a little more warmth.
That night, the book was already open on his desk.
He hadn't touched it. Hadn't even looked at it since that morning.
But it was waiting.
New words were written across the page:
"You smiled today.""I don't like that.""You're talking to them too much.""Don't forget who came when no one else did."
His chest tightened.And then — behind him — the bedroom door clicked shut on its own.
Silence.Stillness.Then—
A whisper."You're forgetting me."
He turned, heart hammering.No one.
But across the room—The mirror had fogged over.
Drawn into the glass:A single handprint.And five small dots below it.
Still wet.Still watching.
To be continued...